


raison d’être

by demios



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universes, Bittersweet, F/M, Post-Chapter 104, Reincarnation, Spoilers, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8907112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demios/pseuds/demios
Summary: Jack, and what happened afterwards.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually pretty old - it was written for the 2015 pandora hearts secret santa, but the gift blog had been deleted along with all the presents. because of this, i'm putting this here mostly for archiving purposes.
> 
> takes place post-chapter 104's events, bouncing off the idea of the abyss showing oz a peaceful future.

If there was anything he learned from all this, it was that nothing is ever truly destroyed. Not the ghosts of his past, which had followed him for a century only to swallow him up when he was so close to making her happy. Not the unwavering hope he harbored, the careful delusion he created to keep his heart intact. Not the tempest he harbored, which ripped him apart with each breath.

Not even his soul, stained by countless sins. The rest of it had vanished into fine dust swept away by time, but the last fragment had been caught like a butterfly between a cage of gentle fingers. He didn’t struggle in the embrace, but he had to wonder why he wasn’t allowed to finally disappear from the world that had rejected his existence time and time again. There wasn’t much time to ponder, because next thing he knew, he was falling. He was wrapped in golden light, passing the dancing stars as he descended further into the Abyss.

He didn’t feel at ease, only empty. Was this mercy? It certainly didn’t feel like it.

Time is not a concept in the Abyss. Not with the lights flooding his vision, constantly flickering behind his eyelids even when he turns away and when he finally opens them, he catches a glance of the beautiful shards the Abyss shows him.

Each time he falls in love.

And each time his heart is shattered.

Every time he peers through the looking glass it’s different.

-

This time, he hears her voice again, but it’s not the same as when they first met.

Instead of wandering the streets, she is on the stage. The cavernous concert hall is dim, save for the single ray of light, illuminating her like an angel. He doesn’t recognize the opera that he attends, but her voice fills the room and he finds himself, among the audience, moved. He sits in the front row, a benefit of being the son of a viscount.

He hadn’t even wanted to attend. Now he doesn’t want to leave.

He watches as the melody she sings makes something in his chest twinge. The words are foreign, but the image of peaceful days sitting among the grass is conjured in his mind. It’s the first time he’s heard her voice yet he feels it like something he knows well. It shakes him to the core.

At the end, she bows daintily, a light smile touching her lips. When their eyes meet, hers glimmer with intrigue for the briefest of moments. His quickly dart to his feet. He doesn’t remember the last time it felt like someone wasn’t staring right through him. The curtain falls over the stage and he’s distraught. Surely this isn’t the last time he’ll see her.

Afterwards, he nearly trips when he runs to her dressing room with a hastily procured bouquet of roses. He holds the mess of flowers out at her, forgetting how to speak, let alone convey the feelings bursting in his chest (or maybe it’s the result of running through a crowd up three flights of stairs). She says she’s never seen anyone so clumsy, but it’s not a cruel remark. He laughs, a light blush dusting his cheeks. She takes one of the roses from her bouquet and puts it in her hair, a deep red that matches her eyes.

_You’re interesting_ , she tells him, _perhaps we’ll meet again._

And they do, only it’s in another dream.

-

This time her body sings.

She twirls soundlessly on the stage and moves as gracefully as a swan. Each twist and turn of her body is thoroughly practiced yet seems effortless. The material of her dress shines like fish scales, the wispy skirt following her like a phantom. She takes center stage once more, the hall engulfed by a familiar darkness. The only sound comes from below; he is in the orchestra, plucking at the strings of his cello as he watches in awe. His fingers have memorized the notes, so he sneaks a look now and then.  He admires the way her spine bows and her arms flutter through the air. He’s seen her do this countless times, but each moment feels brand new.

Even after she exits the stage, he basks in the sensation of wonder she leaves behind. He’s shaken out of his reverie when the end of a baton gently lands on his head. As everyone is packing up, the conductor tells him to pay a little more attention to the score next time instead of the stage. He rubs the back of his neck, not entirely apologetic with the way he smiles.  He supposes he should be, considering she’s the conductor’s sister. But he isn’t, since they’re close friends.

Said sister weaves her way through the flood of musicians eager to get home and stops where the two of them are talking in the pit. She hadn’t bothered to change out of costume, and he realizes it’s the first time he’s seen her up close like this. Well, aside from glancing at her shoes. She looks ethereal, and he’s having difficulties concentrating again.

_Scolding him again, Oswald?_ She giggles, voice bell-like. The man named Oswald sighs.

_He was distracted by the performance and almost played a solo_ , Oswald deadpans.

This time he has the decency to look embarrassed, because she raises a brow before snickering behind a thin hand. She asks if he meant to play a solo for her.

He answers immediately, offering to play one for her, if she really wanted him to. The corner of her mouth quirks.

Oswald looks on, clearly baffled at the sight of his friend turning bright red. She nudges her brother’s arm, reminding him of his next engagement. He bids them farewell , gathering up the score and quickly reminding her not to stay too late before he leaves. She gives a small wave, turning her attention back to the man in front of her.

A mischievous glint enters her eye. _You’ll really play me a solo?_ A childish excitement overtakes her features. He isn’t sure what she’s planning.

As he dredges up some well-practiced concerto from the recesses of his memory, she hops onto the stage again, spreading her arms and stretching elegantly. As he lets muscle memory take over, he finally gets to watch her dance without restraint. The movements are not choreographed this time, and he thinks she looks like a bird finally spreading her wings. With each stroke of his bow, her body radiates joy as she dances with abandon. The sight fills him with an emotion he can’t describe.

He wishes this would last forever.

It doesn’t, of course. It’s just an illusion, a cruel taste of what could have been.

-

Sometimes he sees fantastical visions.

He, as a heartless wizard who traverses the land. And she, a modest shopkeeper. His steed is a castle made of trinkets, and his occupation is using his silver tongue to fool others into moving on with their pithy lives. He owns an innumerable amount of jewels and potions. She only comes armed with a handmade hat and picnic basket.

His life is one full of fleeting relationships, both with the country’s royalty and the girls whose hearts he steals. But not her; no matter how hard he tries, she won’t leave. (And he wonders why, when everyone else in his life did.) She skirts around his giant children’s toy, breathing light into the desolate rooms and the empty feeling in his chest is replaced by something that both suffocating and wonderful. For once, he wants to feel human.

And like a fairytale, she grants his wish. _My chest feels so heavy_ , he tells her. _It’s not entirely a bad feeling, though._

_A heart’s a heavy burden_ , she informs him gently. He doesn’t realize it until he feels a drop fall from his chin, but he’s crying. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried like this, from happiness.

It’s ridiculous, and he even spares a breathy chuckle, but the feelings that momentarily bloom make his heart twinge. He is at the mercy of the Abyss and the thousands of lives he is shown. A fitting punishment, he supposes.

-

The worst ones, in his opinion, are the ones that are closest to his reality.

Some are elegant, like a masquerade. He doesn’t have to worm his way into the Baskerville estate; his family is invited instead. The chances of seeing a ghost from his past are slim, but he attends anyways. He could always swindle another marquis or flatter another countess for his cause. With this thought in mind, he fastens a gold-laced mask onto his face, hoping no one will recognize him.

He steps into the grand hall, making mindless conversation and pretending to be interested until he spots a flash of ruby eyes from behind an ebony mask. He excuses himself and asks her for a dance, his heart beating in his throat. He is someone who never gets nervous, yet here he is, stuttering over his words like a fool. Years of practice escape him when he imagines she might be the person he has been looking for. She accepts, a hint of amusement in her voice, and offers him her hand.

They bow and he holds her as if she was made of glass. He wants to tell her everything, but he doesn’t even know if it’s _her,_ so he settles for a fragile silence and concentrating on her face as they spin about the dance floor. He tries to recognize her under the mask, looking for any signs of recognition from her as well. It’s futile, because the world is moving too fast to properly carry out the task. He settles for losing himself in the music and his own daydreams.

Once the dance is done, she suggests they speak somewhere else. He chases her throughout the estate, wondering if she’ll ever stop. She makes a delighted sound among the clatter of her heels, an indication that she is enjoying this game of tag they’re playing. She stops once she reaches a secluded part of the gardens, a cool breeze making her hair sway as she sits on a bench.

He seats himself next to her and removes his mask, wondering if she will do the same. She doesn’t move, so he gently lifts it off, and his breath catches when he sees those same eyes again.

He whispers her name as a trembling question. Her expression changes for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough for him.

_I’ve been waiting all this time_ , he tells her. _Everything I’ve done up until now, it’s been for you_. He says he doesn’t care if she remembers him or not, he’s just content with seeing her again. He’s prepared to leave if she wants to, but she catches his wrist.

_I remember you, too_ , she whispers back. Her eyes are full of understanding, and he feels whole.

-

Sometimes he dreams of more intimate occasions.

He fidgets with the fabric tickling his neck, pressing down his suit once more and making sure he looks presentable. Oswald watches him from the doorway expectantly, and he anticipates another scolding for doing something so ridiculous. Instead he claps his hand on his shoulder, giving him a silent nod. The small gesture means the world to him, and he feels a little less on edge.

He waits in the church, sparing a glance at the wooden doors now and then. All eyes are on him, and this is unlike any performance he’s put on so far. When the entrance opens, he nearly forgets how to breathe.

She is clad in white, a simple dress because she finds all the added garments to be stifling. She approaches him at the altar and when he lifts the veil from her face he is absolutely mesmerized. The stained glass casts a dazzling light upon their union, filling in the colors missing from her dress and his heart. One part of him can’t believe she would accept him like this. The other thinks he has never been so in love with a person before.

-

Other times he lives in mundane moments, filled with things he could never have.

Two different hands grasp his, swinging them as the humming of three different tunes fill his ear. The summer air is balmy, and the sky is a rich blue. He pauses when he gets tugged off the stone path towards a bush in the garden.

_Father, look!_ A young girl with dark hair returns with a bright grin and a plucked rose, handing it to him. He smiles warmly, taking her gift. Another girl, this time with blonde hair, peers at her sister from where she grasps his opposite hand.

_Mother’s waiting, Alice_ , she says. He looks into the distance and can spot her sitting beneath a shady tree, away from the heat. The girl named Alice promptly challenges her sister to a race, to which the other accepts. They get the hems of their dresses dirty by the time they reach their mother, and he can barely keep up with their lively sprint. He smiles when he sees her, the two girls curled up next to her on the grass after exhausting their energy.

_Is that for me?_ She asks, pointing to the flower in his hand.

_I found it_ , Alice pipes up. He is about to hand it back to her when she shakes her head. You have to give it to Mother now.

_It’s more romantic that way_ , her sister adds. At this, he chuckles, getting down on one knee per his daughters’ request.

_Dearest, will you accept my love?_ He asks, holding the flower out at her. He has a sudden sense of déjà vu when he completes the dramatic motion.

_Of course_ , she replies, taking the rose from him as if it were a delicate jewel.

_You may now kiss the bride!_ The girls chime together, and all of them laugh.

-

The one that is the most bittersweet is when their fingers are intertwined, but it’s not an unfamiliar gesture.

This time she is surrounded by white; white walls, white sheets, white dress. Her hair has turned silver with age, but she is no less beautiful. Her hand feels frail in his, though his are shaking more than hers. The creases around her eyes turn upward as she gives him a smile. The fire in her ruby eyes have not faded with age, despite the fact that everything else has. He forces himself to smile too, until he feels himself falter.

She laughs, a wispy sound that echoes in the otherwise silent room. She calls him a crybaby, even after all these years. She sighs and falls back asleep.

-

He wonders when this torture will end, when the shards suddenly disappear and he’s left alone at the bottom of the Abyss. A type of eternal damnation, he thinks as his soul settles into the nothingness.

He’s almost resigned to his fate when he spots another fragment, and when they collide, he can’t believe what he sees.

She is standing there, in the light of the Abyss, and when she turns to look at him, he falls to his knees.

She strides over to him, looking exactly the same as the last time they met. 

“Lacie?” He hears himself ask.

“Yes, Jack. It’s me.” She cradles his head in her arms, stroking his hair as he finds himself sobbing. “The Abyss told me everything. You’re awfully foolish, you know.”

“I know.” It’s all he can muster, leaning into her embrace.

“I’m not mad at you, though. Well, not anymore. It was getting sort of lonely down here by myself.” Her voice is light, but her last statement seems to hold more than a grain of truth.

Jack gathers himself and stands up, still weak from the shock. “I thought you were gone.”

“I was.” Lacie takes his hand. “But I was waiting for you. Just like you waited for me.”

“I’m… sorry I made you wait for so long.” And that our reunion has to be so short, he thinks as he feels the last parts of his soul beginning to crumble away.

Lacie doesn’t miss this detail, giving a small curtsy before him. “As an apology, why don’t you treat me to one last dance before we go, Mr. Jack Vessalius?”

“It would be my pleasure, Lacie.” He takes her hand and they dance with the lights of the Abyss illuminating their world. It looks like stardust streaking across the sky, like the time they first met. When the two of them disappear in each other’s arms, Jack thinks he’s never been more at peace.

He hopes the Abyss will remember this as love.


End file.
